


Embrasse Moi

by trickstartmonk



Series: super!duper!clueless! [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Gen, M/M, Pre-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-11-24 09:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18163604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trickstartmonk/pseuds/trickstartmonk
Summary: Pete is many things in this world, but most importantly and most unfortunately, he is not Patrick's.





	Embrasse Moi

**Author's Note:**

> "Embrasse moi  
> Quand tu voudras"  
> -Patrick Watson, 'Je te laisserai des mots'

“Patrick, hey.”

Patrick blearily bats at Pete’s hand, groaning, “Fuck off.”

(A lesser man would cower from Patrick Stump: The Morning Grump, but Pete doesn’t. He thinks it shows character strength, actually, but Patrick usually just tells him to piss off, you weak, _weak_ man.

Whatever.)

He shoves at Patrick’s shoulder again.

“No.”

He pokes at Patrick’s ribs. “C’mon, Patrick. Pat. Patty-boy, Pat-Pat.” He singsongs, “Ohhh Patrick! Trick-Tricky!”

A pillow hits him in the face. He grins.

It’s two seconds, _maybe_ three before he’s lunging at Patrick, jumping into the bunk. He lets out what he imagines to be a fierce warrior cry and attacks. He manages to avoid hitting his head, but unfortunately every one of his limbs bang and slam into the walls, the curtain, the blankets, and of course, Patrick. Patrick, as one likely would when faced with such a creature as Pete, fights back. He yelps and whines, struggling against Pete's stupid morning cuddles. It's not even that cute, seriously.

Besides, it feels like every morning he wakes up to Pete's voice or face or sweet-foul breath. Maybe he should be used to it, but that doesn't justify anything.

After probably half a minute, Patrick gives up. He's still stuck on his stomach with a brain still resolutely sleep fogged, and he decides he might as well save himself some time, effort, and the nonexistent energy he would continue to waste were he to keep fighting. Pete's still on top of him and still has the leverage from being both awake and literally  _on_ Patrick. Patrick groans again, so fucking tired, and relaxes his body as a sign of compliance. He turns his head to the side, just barely able to see Pete at the angle.

"Alright, you win. You happy?" His voice is gravelly from sleep.

Pete laughs into the back of his neck. The bastard's probably having a  _great_ time, huh.

He's a heavy weight, even through the many blankets separating them, and he probably _is_ having a good time because he opts to settle directly on top of Patrick's back. He wiggles until properly comfortable and goes _splat._ Muscles jelly, body slack, and hips stupidly, annoyingly and _perfectly_ aligned. His face rests right in the crook of Patrick's neck where the wisp of his breath tickles the most and Patrick tries not to shiver or do anything equally stupid. He manages to suppress anything embarrassing, right up until Pete gives him a raspberry on his bare neck, and seriously what the _fuck_.

"Oh  _gross_ , Pete, fuck!"

Patrick shifts away, and hey, _seriously_ , what the fuck _._

It's nothing, actually, it's _nothing_ , except for how that's a lie. Patrick shifts away, just a small squirming motion that should result in nothing strange. But he wriggles just a bit and inevitably presses up it's hard not to notice Pete's half hard against him, a slight pressure on his thigh when he moves.

Pete doesn't like, moan or anything, it's nothing like that. It's just a tiny, itty bitty inhale of breath that Patrick only feels because they're still so close. Just a tiny, sweet little gasp, and _jesus_ why are they so close in the first place? 

Patrick could. He  _could_ take advantage of the situation. He could press up harder, maybe grind up a little, and Pete would give as good as he gets. He'd kiss his neck and there would be hands, god there would be  _hands,_ everywhere, and all they would hear is shared labored breaths. Patrick could turn around and look Pete in the eye, eyes half lidded and pupils dilated, beautiful and his. Pete would suck marks into his skin because that's what Pete has always stricken him as, possessive, and oh _fuck_ the thought makes Patrick wanna cry and lick and bite,  _fuck._ Panting, whimpering, friction. Just the loud and silent slide of fabric until the touches found skin, and then it would be hothot _hot_ sensation, fuck, and Patrick  _could_ , if he wanted to. He could.

But Patrick thinks about where they are.

The ground under them is moving, they're on the tour-bus, for god's sake. Worse than that, they aren't alone, they don't have any privacy. If Patrick listens closely now, he can hear Andy in the lounge occasionally sniffling and stirring his coffee, can hear Joe in the bunk across his still snoring.

Patrick thinks about how Pete would be afterwards.

Patrick has watched how Pete moves after a hookup, sated and liquid honey, how he drawls his words a little and smiles lazily. It's good, and Patrick thinks maybe he'd love to one day be the cause of that, but.

But.

Patrick also knows how Pete gets when he _regrets_ a hookup. When he feels guilty about it. He thinks to all the times he's known Pete to stop talking to an ex, an acquaintance, even close friends. The big sad eyes he gets because he feels bad but can't and won't fix anything. How Pete ignores ignores ignores and pretends nothing's wrong even while relationships deteriorate.

Pete is many things in this world, but most importantly (most  _unfortunately_ ), he is not Patrick's. He doesn't know if he could manage losing any part of Pete, and while tempting, he doesn't initiate. He'll nip this in the bud and stop things from going any further. He will  _not_ lose Pete from a stupid crush out of control, fuck no.

Patrick laughs loudly and wonders if Pete can tell how forced it feels. But it's up to him, he thinks, to diffuse this situation and get them back to normal.

His neck is still wet from Pete's raspberry and he chuckles now, "Fuck off, asshole. I'm awake, I'm awake." He hopes he sounds a quarter as assertive as he does in his head.

Pete's laugh is maybe more stilted, but attempted all the same. "Yeah, yeah." He takes a deep breath and lifts his body, warm weight off Patrick as he gets out of the bunk first.

Patrick lies there and feels his back go cold, even under the blanket, without Pete trapping the heat. He counts ten seconds before he hops up and walks to the kitchen, pleasantly surprised when Pete's already made him a cup, perfect and delicious smelling.

He hands it to Patrick grinning, but perhaps a little dimmer than usual.

Patrick feels a slight tug at his heart. He tries, "Let's go wake up Joe, yeah?" and watches Pete brighten.

Pete runs back to the bunks, childlike, and tiptoes to Joe's. He stops just outside and turns back to Patrick, with a silent finger to his lip in the universal symbol to 'be quiet' and smiles huge and devious. Patrick huffs a tiny laugh and leans against the counter with cup in hand, sipping tiny sips as it cools. He watches the flat planes of Pete's back move under the soft fabric of his tee, and braces for the yelling.

(Scaring Joe is actually an art the Pete has perfected over the years.)

He pulls open the curtain lightning fast and yells, "AHHHH!" too loudly in the quiet of the morning. Joe's eyes snap open comedically and in his barely-awake consciousness, he reflexively levitates, effectively slamming his entire body onto the roof of his bunk. At the  _thunk_ , he falls back down into his bed rather harshly.

Patrick winces sympathetically.

Pete just laughs victoriously and sprints to Andy.

Joe rubs his eyes and jumps out of the bunk. He runs past Patrick and after Pete, stumbling a few times from grogginess and maybe minor head injury. Pete is hiding behind Andy whom is unamused by these antics, and when Joe reaches them, Pete cowers further.

"I'm safe, dude!"

Joe sneaks a glance at Andy. "Is that so?"

Andy meets his eyes. His lips twitch a little but he says nothing. He shrugs.

Pete gasps at the betrayal and grips Andy's arm, his body still burrowed into Andy's side. "Dude, this is Base! Andy's Base! I'm safe, dude, I'm safe!" 

Joe raises an eyebrow and smirks. He hums thoughtfully, body still lunged and prepared for attack. He asks Andy without inflection, "Are you now."

Andy shrugs again.

Joe springs on them both.

Patrick watches from his spot and grins. He avoided something potentially catastrophic this morning, and when he looks at his stupid boys he's proud of his decision. It would have been the wrong move. Tempting, sure, of course, but still wrong.

As Pete giggles from the tickle attack, body at ease, Patrick _knows_ he made the right decision. He doesn't want to imagine a scenario where Pete isn't as safe and fun and _happy_ as he is with them. The band has a good dynamic. _Synergy_ , as Pete says. And yeah. Patrick was smart this morning, and in an alternate timeline, he knows his slightly more impulsive self is facing the consequences. 

(Or the rewards.)

A loud scream interrupts his thoughts and he looks up. Pete is dangling from the air with Joe firmly grasping him in a full body hug. He and Joe are hovering about four feet above Andy, Pete's back pressed to Joe's front, head to toe, and the two are still yelling, even as they levitate facing the hard ground.

Pete barks a laugh and beckons Patrick over, and Patrick obliges. Always.

(His heart clenches a tiny bit, but it's nothing. Really.)

 ***

_Later, Pete will sport a bruised jaw from where Andy accidentally kneed him. He'll be too wound up to be able to hang out with everyone without being an annoying hyper jerk, and Patrick will sense the emotions a mile away, they're so intense. Pete walks over to Patrick with a protruding lip and the eyes Patrick historically has never been able to resist, arms open and inviting; maybe a tiny bit questioning. Patrick thinks nothing of it when he hugs him, it's tradition and there's nothing strange about it, but he thinks briefly back to this morning and flushes. Pete drags his lips over Patrick's ear, touchy, always too touchy, and asks it he's alright._

_Patrick radiates 'calm'  and feels Pete's shoulder blades shift under his skin. He presses his fingers into Pete's shirt until he feels where the warmth fades through and wonders why he feels so safe._

_Pete is not safe, Pete is anything but. Pete does stupid shit and starts fights and takes too many dares. He's too challenging and he's got too many enemies, and for no reason should it make sense. Patrick doesn't understand why he feels safe with him, how how how, why why why._

_Maybe Pete's copying his ability. Maybe he's imitating what Patrick does best and chemically altering Patrick's emotions the way Patrick does to everyone else. Maybe he's radiating 'calm' too, or._

_Or._

_Maybe Pete's just being a good friend. Being comforting._

_Patrick shakes his head as an answer and holds Pete closer. Everything's too confusing, he's confused, he wants more, he's scared, he wants nothing. He sighs, body relaxing in the embrace._

_He's not imagining the way Pete flexes his arms and holds Patrick closer too. Patrick isn't imagining when Pete burrows so instinctively and sweetly. He's not imagining the lips tracing his neck._

_They say nothing, just holding on, sometimes swaying back and forth._

_The tradition is theirs, and Patrick's own head feels better, while Pete seems to ooze 'relax'. Even in the early days, back when Patrick didn't like being clinged to, they did this. Patrick would do his thing for Pete, calm him down, and Pete would do his. Imitate it and match Patrick. 'I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine', and why. Why were they such a good match?_

_Pete rubs his hand in small, soothing circles, and Patrick practically purrs. They rock back and forth together. Always together._

_Patrick feels safe, and that's a problem._

_He doesn't know how long they stay there._

 ***

Pete sleeps in Patrick's bed that night.

The second he tumbles past the curtain, Patrick instinctively rolls over and opens his arm for Pete to snuggle in to. 

Habit.

When Pete shuffles close, bodies pressed together, he sighs contentedly. Patrick kisses his temple, sleepy and loving, because that's what Pete does.

Again, it's habit, tradition, them. 

But when Pete groggily stretches up and touches his lips to Patrick's, Patrick doesn't actually remember this particular tradition.

His tongue is loose from sleep so he pulls away and mumbles, "Pulling a fast one over me, Pete?"

Pete's tired smile pressed against his neck is answer enough.

 

They don't talk about it in the morning.

***

 

Pete's writing again.

Or, well. Mostly it consists of grumbling, scribbling things, and doodles in the margins, more than say,  _writing_.

He's bored and frustrated. He's angry, honestly a little horny, and hey. Hey, hey, hey, hey. Bored. Bored. Bored? Yes, definitely Bored.

Bored, fuck he's so _bored_.

He slams the notebook shut and throws it at Patrick's head.

Patrick yelps, "Ow! Fuck!"

Pete smiles. He knows his eyes say, ' _Play with me, I'm bored, play with me, please please please. Pleasepleaseplease. Cherry on top.'_

Patrick rolls his eyes and flattens his hair. The incoming notebook had ruffled it a bit, and left it in various directions. His glasses are just this side of askew and Pete keeps his hands planted firmly on his thighs to keep from crawling over and fixing them. He thinks if he tried to make the touches friendly, he might get distracted and just end up touching. 

Patrick doesn't like touches that aren't strictly platonic, and he stomps down the sadness pulling at his brain.

Whatever.

Patrick picks up the notebook and opens it, eyes quickly glancing at Pete, who shrugs.

The first line, Pete remembers.

 

_Touch me, it's fair/ we're equals, it's just/ just! you don't react/ a limp catalyst I assumed more potent/ but unreciprocated is your love's intent_

 

He ducks his head down, remembers a different line, one much farther down on the page. The rest are blurry and he can't recall them exactly, but this one is clear too. Crystal.

 

_More, I want (need) more/ if you don't bother/ no response is louder than any words at all_

 

He knows the beat he wants for these ones, were the band to  _actually_ use them. But that's not their express duty. No, Pete thinks they are meant for something else entirely.

He knows they're just word vomit, but hey. Hey,  _hey._ It's been days and they haven't addressed the elephant in the room. The one that's big, pink, sparkly, and painted in rainbow letters, 'HOMO!' Pete thinks to that morning, that tiny instance, the bridge they could've crossed had they actually exchanged kisses, thrusts, fuck. Pete would've exchanged _vows_ that morning if he had the chance.

He looks up.

Patrick's lips are moving, just subtle twitches as he moves the words in his mouth.

Pete stares.

He wonders how much Patrick actually uses his power, consciously or not.

Does he do it on purpose?

Is he doing it now?

Do we not notice?

Does he make Pete happier with his  _ability_ or just because he's _Patrick_ and Pete practically thinks Patrick hung the moon and flicked the stars.

(Joe can only levitate off of instinct (like being scared in the morning) or when he purposefully decides to. He doesn't fly off into space when he sleeps outside under the stars. However, not everyone is like that. Brendon doesn't really turn on his ability, he just naturally radiates it, Pete knows. He knows that it takes more awareness to turn it  _off_ than anything, and hey. Hey. Pete doesn't know if Patrick is like that too.)

Pete is maybe a tiny bit scared he only likes Patrick for his power. What if he doesn't _really_ like Patrick in all of his utter Patrick-ness? What if he only likes his calming abilities? What if he's addicted to Patrick's unconscious ability to make him feel good instead of just Patrick, who makes him laugh even over the phone and beyond Patrick's capability?

But Pete can't really believe any of that. Plenty of people are at the mercy of Patrick's power. Tons of other people experience Patrick's manufactured 'calm' on a regular basis. But no one else watches his hands like Pete does, or his stupid sideburns, or his toes tap. No one else laughs with Patrick like Pete does, or picks up his favorite desserts at gas stations, or hums songs wrong just to listen to Patrick grumble the right melody.

Pete sighs quietly. It sucks to be in love, but he assumes it could be worse. At least he didn't fall in love with like, Joe or Andy. That would've been disastrous.

Plus, he thinks, Patrick's not so bad to love, even if it _is_ solely one sided. Patrick smells good and cuddles late at night when they watch movies. Patrick lets Pete sleep with him sometimes, and those are the nights he sleeps best. Patrick will hug him whenever he needs it, and lets Pete tuck in close in interviews sometimes. He laughs with Pete at inside jokes, and they speak pretty well without talking, too. A language of huffs and touches and eyebrows and sharp smiles.

(No, Patrick's not so bad to love at all, even if he sometimes kills Pete.)

He hears a cough, sees Patrick staring at him. His blue eyes seem darker, and he must have understood the lyrics. He had to.

The words are too obvious _not_ to.

But Patrick just laughs and says, "Did you get so impatient you just decided you  _had_ to hit me with them?"

(If Pete listened close enough, he could hear the slight wobble in Patrick's voice, but he doesn't. The words hit him hard in the gut and he doesn't notice Patrick's shaky hands.)

Pete feels his face drop a little and knows his eyes must look more distant now, because that's how he _feels_. He pulls one side of his lips upward, quirks them a little, and meets Patrick's eyes.

He shrugs. "I was bored."

Patrick breathes a laugh through his nose. He doesn't comment on the lyric's meanings, though there were many. He doesn't grab Pete's face and confess his love, though that was the plan. Patrick doesn't look at Pete with anything more than friendliness in his gaze, though that was Pete's hope.

Pete feels nauseous. He feels so, unreasonably, intensely tired all of a sudden. His bones are heavier than they were a few minutes ago. God.

Pete wants to sleep for a thousand years, and then, maybe then, he'll be able to look at Patrick without  _wanting_ so badly.

He grabs the notebook and heads to his bunk without a word.

He sleeps for fourteen hours, but not restfully. 

It's not enough.

He wakes up alone, and that's to be expected. He didn't fall asleep next to anyone, but. 

But.

He becomes painfully aware that its only ever him who crawls in with Patrick. Never the other way around.

He stares at the ceiling of his bunk and wonders if Patrick could calm him down. Then he wonders if Patrick _is_ currently radiating his tranquility and softening the blow Pete's feeling.

Pete's head throbs and he rolls over.

No one disturbs him. He tells himself that's what he wanted anyway, and can't quite believe it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> continuation :)


End file.
